The Mystery at Maypenny's

this as a favor. I’m not making a threat. You can make a beeline for the path and scream till the inspectors come, if you want to. I just wish you wouldn’t.”
    Trixie and Honey exchanged nervous glances. Keeping quiet about an abandoned car was one thing. Not telling anyone that the owner of the car was hiding out in the woods, trying to find evidence that would stop the International Pine expansion, was another.
    Trixie realized that for Honey, promising not to tell would be even harder. Her father and John Score were on opposite sides of the issue. There was no doubt in Trixie’s mind about what Matt Wheeler would do if he knew John Score was hiding in the woods: He’d call the police.
    Seeing the girls’ reluctance, John Score added, “If you won’t keep quiet for my sake, then do it for Mr. Maypenny’s. I don’t think he could get in any trouble with the law for harboring a fugitive, but it means a lot to him right now to know there’s someone working for his side. He’d be pretty upset if I had to leave town without finding evidence to stop the expansion.”
    “Well ...” Trixie said slowly, looking at Honey.
    “I’m putting you on the spot, I know,” John Score said. “Let’s put a time limit on it. I want until next Wednesday. If I haven’t found any evidence by then, I’ll pack up my tent and steal away, back to Ohio. Then you can tell everybody everything. But please—give me a little more time.”
    Still Trixie hesitated. She knew what her own answer would be, but she couldn’t answer for Honey. Trixie stared at the ground, not knowing what to say.
    “We’ll keep quiet until Wednesday,” Honey said.
    Trixie looked at her friend in surprise. Honey looked back at her calmly. Her decision had been made, and she was willing to take responsibility for it, the look said.
    “All right,” Trixie agreed.
    John Score rose and held out a hand to each of the girls, helping them to their feet. “Thank you,” he said. “Now, get going, before somebody hears us talking and my time runs out before I want it to.”

A Devious Plot ● 12

    THE NEXT MORNING, the Beldens were having a late breakfast when the telephone rang. Mrs. Belden answered it and returned to the table. “It’s for you, Trixie,” she said. “It’s Honey.”
    Trixie excused herself from the table and walked slowly to the phone. She wondered if her best friend was having second thoughts about their promise not to tell anyone about John Score.
    Instead, she found Honey brimming with enthusiasm. “Jim just made the most perfectly perfect suggestion,” she said. “He thinks we should all meet at the boathouse this afternoon for a picnic. The weather forecaster is predicting a cold snap next week, and Jim thinks we should take advantage of the nice weather while we can.“
    “That does sound like a ‘perfectly perfect’ idea,” Trixie agreed. “I’ll check with Brian and Mart. Oh—and with Moms, of course. I haven’t been home very much lately. I hope she doesn’t tell me I have to stay here and slave away while my brothers are out having fun at the boathouse.”
    Honey laughed. “You make your mother sound like a slave driver, Trixie. She’s not like that at all.”
    “I know,” Trixie said guiltily. “Moms never makes me stay home when Brian and Mart get to go somewhere. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, the way I’m always going off and leaving her with Bobby and all the housework.”
    “Your mother just wants what’s best for you, Trixie. She thinks you should know how to work and how to play,” Honey said reassuringly. “Anyway, we’ll plan on seeing you at about three o’clock, unless I hear from you again. Miss Trask is having Celia make up a picnic supper, so you don’t have to bring a thing.”
    “Yummy-yum!” Trixie exclaimed. “I just finished breakfast, but I’m hungry already!”
    Just as Honey had predicted, Mrs. Belden readily agreed that the Bob-Whites should take advantage of the waning days of Indian summer. She also decreed, however, that Trixie should take charge of Bobby until it was time to go.
    As soon as the dishes were done, Trixie took Bobby into the living room and settled down on the couch for the Sunday ritual of reading the funny papers.
    But this Sunday, Bobby had found another section of the paper that interested him more than his favorite cartoon characters. “Read me this, Trixie,” he demanded, holding the section up to her.
    Trixie glanced at the headline.